


Into the Rose Garden

by amphitrite



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, None of that Steve staying in the past nonsense, POV Natasha Romanov, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Survivor Guilt, The Avengers are a big happy family, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amphitrite/pseuds/amphitrite
Summary: On Vormir, it was Clint who sacrificed his life for the Soul Stone. When Natasha returns to Earth, she decides to make a change.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 95





	Into the Rose Garden

> _What might have been and what has been_  
>  _Point to one end, which is always present._  
>  _Footfalls echo in the memory_  
>  _Down the passage we did not take_  
>  _Towards the door we never opened_  
>  _Into the rose garden._  
> 
> 
> ― T. S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets

  


When Barnes faded to dust on the battlefield, Natasha hadn’t expected to feel anything, much less the pain of a heavy blow that knocked the breath out of her lungs.

Steve got to him first, and she trod slowly to the spot where Barnes lay, the hot dagger of regret in her gut. She had foolishly believed that they would have more time—more time for her to summon the courage to come clean, more time for him to untangle his corrupted memories.

But Thanos snapped, and he was gone. The hope that she hadn’t known was still alive flickered and died.

_Love is for children_ , she had told Loki all those years ago. She had been barely more than a child the last time she had let devastation like this consume her. The first man who had ever shown her kindness was at last part of history, and the steel fortress around her heart grew more ferocious.

As grief consumed the world, the patchwork Avengers tried to make sense of it. Even after they failed in their most important mission; after Thanos was gone but all the same wounds still festered; after the team splintered, guilt and helplessness eating away at their hearts . . . Even then, Natasha ran home base, throwing herself into the work. What else was there to do? The Avengers were all she had. The murky future frightened her, so she clung to what she knew.

Gearing up for battle again had been sweet relief. But what happened on Vormir shattered her all over again.

When Clint let go of her hand as they dangled off a dark cliffside, it was like a knife in her belly. It should have been her. After all the pain and grief she had caused, all the red in her ledger, it should have been her.

For weeks afterward, she dreamt of Clint’s body, framed by blood and disarmingly still, lost to the sands of time on a planet so far from home.

After the fight, after they were planetside once more, Natasha swore to herself that things would be different this time.

*

She waited until after Tony’s and Clint’s funerals, after Steve’s return and Thor’s departure, to approach him—the Soldier, Barnes, Bucky, James. It was all mixed up in her head now—the present, his past, the times she remembered sharing with him.

For years, Natasha had considered the possibility that Barnes didn’t remember her—a convenient excuse not to approach him. She had done everything in her power to avoid being alone with him, but in the heat of battle they fought like two sides of the same coin. (He had trained her, after all.) Long years as a spy had enshrined in her the ability to be friendly but aloof, to keep her distance without burning any bridges. But at times, on the run with Steve and Sam, she had wondered what it would be like to hold him again.

Barnes opened his door after her two concise knocks. His hair was freshly washed, a frizzy halo around his head. The blue eyes she had once adored were heavily lidded—he hadn’t had his morning coffee yet. A navy-blue T-shirt and a pair of jogger sweatpants made him feel easy, approachable. In public, he always hid his arm under a jacket, his metal fingers behind gloves. But here, in his quarters in the Avengers compound, he felt more like the Winter Soldier she had known all those years ago: mostly man but partially inorganic, too—something she could relate to.

“Hey,” he said. “Another mission?”

The Avengers—and there were so many of them now—had been helping rebuild the world while also rebuilding their headquarters. It was going to take years to get the world back into some semblance of normal, but Natasha was just glad that this time, so many people seemed to want to pitch in. Because everywhere there were people who needed help, and wherever there were vulnerable people, there were always others willing to take advantage of them. That had not changed, despite everything that had.

“No,” Natasha said. “I was hoping we could talk.”

The shades were drawn but the blinds partly opened. Sunlight crept across the mess of sheets, and the air hung a little thick with a musky bergamot scent that brought half-buried memories to the surface. There were no personal effects on the desk or the walls, just a humble pile of clothing on the dresser and a brand-new smartphone sitting untouched on the bedside table.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said once he closed the door behind them.

“Nah,” he said. “I was just being lazy.”

“You deserve it,” she said, surprising herself with her sincerity. He gestured at the desk chair. It squeaked as she took a seat.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting at the edge of the bed. Too close and not close enough all at once. “You do, too. Although gotta admit I can’t really imagine you lounging around.”

“It’s not my strong suit,” she agreed. “I don’t like being alone with my thoughts.” It was more than she had meant to say.

“I can sure understand that.”

Natasha watched the sunlight refract off Barnes’s new, upgraded metal arm as she gathered her courage to awaken sleeping giants. The weight of his echoing gaze made her feel uncharacteristically self-conscious even though she was wearing her usual off-duty outfit and had never given much of a damn what anyone thought of it. The suffocating silence swelled with unasked questions.

“So, you wanted to talk?”

“Do you remember the Red Room?”

They had spoken at the same time. Natasha didn’t flinch, waiting for Barnes to absorb the question.

Eyes lowering, he spoke quietly. “Glimpses here and there,” he said, clenching and unclenching his right fist. “They wiped my memory again when they retrieved me from the Soviet Union, so it’s . . . blurry. Hazy. But some memories stuck.”

The tender flip in Natasha’s chest surprised her. Her next fragile question was whispered, more tentative than she could remember feeling in years, in decades.

“Do you remember me?”

Barnes, too, hesitated. She could feel him brace to make the leap across the chasm that had separated them for all these years, hardened them further and rendered them ill-fitted for the type of closeness they had shared in the shadows of Kyiv.

“Yes, Natalia.”

It was like rediscovering how to breathe, the massive weight that had made a home in her chest taking flight. Trembling, Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. A spindly sapling of hope began to sprout from where it had been razed on the battleground.

“You never said anything,” she accused, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve avoided me since DC. I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me.”

“I didn’t,” Natasha admitted. “You were a reminder of a time when I was brasher, stupider. Weaker.”

Barnes nodded, unflinching. She waited for him to be hurt, or to reassure her, but he did neither. She was pleased to realize he still understood her in a way that no one else had ever seemed to.

“What changed then?” he asked.

The battlefield air, thick with the stench of dirt and blood, stuck in her lungs as she watched Barnes’s familiar body fall. The curl of despair in her heart as he turned to dust, the stabbing sensation in her gut as she raced to the spot he had stood just seconds before. The loss after loss that came afterward—of their friends, their allies, their people. The devastation of an entire world—an entire universe _—_ shrouded in life-shattering grief. Trying to pick up the pieces and go on in that world, trying to save people in a world where so many of them no longer cared about being saved. Trying to save Clint and failing. The stifling guilt as she told Laura what had happened, vision clouded by tears she had still not let fall. The new nightmares.

“Thanos,” she said simply.

Again, he nodded, needing no tedious explanations from her. She had missed him terribly.

He stretched out on the bed and folded his arms behind his head, and she had to drag her eyes back up to his face. The tension between them still lay heavy, but it was less intimidating now that she knew she wasn’t alone in remembering.

Staring at the ceiling, Barnes spoke: “It was strange. I’ve almost died so many times, and none were so bizarre. Every part of me tingled, like an electric shock, and then it all went black. The next thing I knew, there was a pull on my insides and a voice inside my head telling me that our reality was in danger, and I was dashing into battle.”

“I’m glad you came when you did,” Natasha said.

“Me too,” Barnes said, still not looking at her. “Fighting is the one thing I’m still good for.”

“I used to think that, too,” Natasha said. “But being here, being around good people, it helps. I’ve built something of a life—something I never dreamed I would have.”

“It's good that you found somewhere you belong,” Barnes said. There was something gruffly tender about the way he said it, something genuine that made her stomach flip in an unfamiliar way. She felt uncomfortably young, yearning for something she couldn’t bear to name.

“You can have it, too,” she said quietly.

“I think it’s too late for me,” he said, lips pressed tight and eyes distant. “HYDRA and the KGB made me into a machine—their machine. They took everything.”

“You don’t really think that,” Natasha said, gaze intent on him. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here, staying with us and helping us rebuild. You wouldn’t have joined us in that first fight against Thanos after Shuri freed you.”

Barnes sat back up and finally met her gaze across the room contemplatively. She looked back, unflinching. He knew her better than anyone else had ever known her, but she knew him, too.

“So now what?” he said, leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees and hands clasped under his chin. “Where does this leave us?”

“It depends,” she said. “Do you want to be friends? Lovers?”

“Do you?” he asked.

She gave him a pained look, and he responded with a small, wry smile, just the slight curve of his pretty mouth. He patted the spot next to him on the bed.

“Come here,” he said gently.

Heart thrumming, she sat beside him, so close that she could practically feel the chill of his metal arm. But it was Barnes’s other hand that reached for her, cupping her cheek tenderly. His fingers quivered as he leaned closer. For a timeless moment, they simply stared at each other, spellbound. Silently, Natasha traced the peaks and valleys of his beloved face with her eyes, the sight at once so familiar and brand new.

“James, I . . .” she tried to say, but the words caught in her throat. _I missed you. I lost you and cursed you for it and the entire time never stopped missing you._

“I know,” he said. “Me too.”

_Please,_ she thought desperately. _Please let me have this one thing just for myself._

Closing the distance between them, she kissed him, at first barely a brush of the lips. When he didn’t move away, she deepened the kiss, hard and unrelenting as she tried to convey what she had felt all those years after losing him, after finding him again only to lose him once more. The effort she had put into locking him away in her mind, burying her memories of their time together—too short, too rushed, too tainted by fear—deep beneath all the other trauma. 

James made a soft, vulnerable sound and then surged against her, his metal hand gripping the back of her head. He was warm and unyielding, and the way he caressed her the back of her neck sent sparks shooting down her spine.

It was as if nothing had changed—and yet so much had, and that was a wonderful thing, because it meant that they were here, safe and among friends, so far from the shadows of Red Room. They had both made it out, and they had found each other again.

The astonishing thought made Natasha hungry with desire, eager to prove that this was real and not some horrible delusion. She climbed into James’s lap, her usual grace giving way to clumsy, long-suppressed hunger. It was strange how familiar it felt to wrap her limbs around him, though this time she wasn’t trying to subdue him or stop him from killing her.

James must have had the same thought, because he chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around her waist, gazing up at her with wet eyes and undisguised longing.

“We’ve come a long way,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes, we have,” she said, and pushed him down on the bed.

*

Now that the Avengers were back in business, Steve was taking point on mission assignments. When Natasha was assigned a rebuilding project that sent her to the other side of the world the day after she and James were reunited, she didn’t protest. But it was mildly mortifying how often she thought of him, of the soft way he had looked at her in bed, of the way the muscles in his back had rippled as he stretched, of the broken gasps he had made as he shattered beneath her nimble fingers. It felt as if a dam of long-repressed feelings had been released within her, years of devastation followed by a gossamer hope. She had hoped some distance would soften the impulse, but it only bred a wistful longing within her.

In a hotel bar in Indonesia, Wanda got drunk enough to become maudlin, speaking of Vision and lamenting about lost time. It resonated with Natasha more than she would have guessed not so many years ago. She thought of Clint’s broken body and the poor exchange for a stone that would never make her laugh the way that he had, a space rock that lacked the grace of forgiveness Clint had offered so easily. Then she thought of James, of losing him at such a fragile age and hardening her heart so that she could never be hurt again. The truth came spilling out of her, white hot, and Wanda’s expressive eyes widened in surprise at the rare vulnerability being shared.

“It’s kind of . . . romantic,” she said. And weren’t their lots in life so strange, hers to love a superpowered android who had shown her a regard and kindness she had rarely received from humans; Natasha’s to love a brainwashed assassin rescued from the brink of death by monsters who reshaped him from a war hero into someone burdened with a trauma like hers.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha said, “I don’t know about that.”

Wanda smiled wanly. “No, I wouldn’t expect it for you either, but I think it’s quite beautiful.”

Natasha rolled the pit of her martini olive around on her tongue before spitting it out. “Frankly, I don’t even know if it’s going to go anywhere. The two of us—we’re not made for this kind of thing.”

“Nat, don’t let this one go,” Wanda said urgently. “I know how intimidating it can be, how impossible the leap is to make, but it’s worth it. It’s at least worth your best shot.”

Natasha downed the rest of her drink and stared down at the empty glass. As embarrassing as it felt, it was refreshing to hear someone supporting her in this, especially someone who had experience with unorthodox relationships.

“Thanks,” was all she managed to say. But Wanda smiled and seemed to understand what she had left unspoken.

*

When Natasha returned to headquarters, she did not seek out James. But the compound was only so large.

Two days after she got back from Indonesia, she was heading to the gym facility—one of the floors they had rebuilt first—with Sam for a sparring session, when they ran into James coming out the other way. A heather gray T-shirt he hadn’t bothered to put back on was slung over his shoulder, along with a white towel. Long hair tied back and bare skin glistening, he shot her a crooked smile that nearly made her stop in her tracks.

“Hey,” he said. To Natasha, he was radiant, always. These past few years she had locked that feeling away, and now that it had been released, she felt as if she were experiencing it in quadruple strength. She dragged her eyes back up to his face, flushing. His eyes twinkled knowingly, playful in a way she had forgotten about. 

All those cold years after Department X wiped him and put him away, and then those weeks after he shot her in Ukraine like she was his enemy—she had spent those dark hours heaving dry, silent sobs and thinking about the vulnerable expression in his eyes when she sat astride him, the gentle curve of his lips when he stroked her hair, the benedictions he whispered in the dark. Through the pain, she had forgotten about his corny, old-fashioned sense of humor and how much she had adored it—a flint spark in the darkness that had tried so intently to drown them.

“Hey,” Natasha echoed weakly, willing her face into a neutral expression. She was a professional, damn it. She had seen him unclothed so many times before; why did it suddenly feel so different? “Good workout?”

“Decent,” James said. “Be nice to have a real challenge though. Punching bag’s not living up to the bargain.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Is that an invitation?”

“Not sure you’d be able to handle it,” James said, outright grinning. Lips twitching in amusement, Natasha shoved him just hard enough to make him stumble. Smile not faltering, he let her do so and then held his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right, you’re on.” In Russian, he added, “ _We’ll see if you’ve improved over the years._ ”

“I guess I’m just invisible today,” Sam piped up, eyebrows raised as if he knew he was missing something. Natasha rolled her eyes, tamping down her smile. Chuckling in good humor, James backed away from them with his hands up, a boyish, teasing grin lighting up his face.

“I hope you throttle him,” he said to Natasha, pretending to ignore Sam.

“It’s done,” she tossed back, still unable to take her eyes off him.

“Come by later,” James mouthed silently over Sam’s shoulder. She nodded before he slipped out the door, her heart racing. It had been many long years since she had experienced that peculiar sensation.

“Finally getting friendly with ‘the Soldier’?” Sam teased as they helped each other stretch on the sparring mats. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting with you.”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” Natasha scoffed.

But for the rest of the morning, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

*

After their workout session—during which Natasha did, in fact, throttle Sam (but he put up a good fight)—she made her excuses and headed up to her suite to shower. Then she went to see James, hair in a casual braid and heart aflutter.

James opened his door almost immediately after she knocked.

“Were you waiting for me?” she teased, eyebrows raised.

Without answering, he gestured for her to enter. As soon as the door slid closed behind them, he pushed her against the metal. A thrill went up her spine, and, heart pounding, she wrestled out of his grip to pin him to the door and press a fervent kiss against his lips. With a gasp, he opened his mouth and melted into her, fingers scrabbling for purchase on her thin linen shirt.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she panted against his mouth as one hand snaked around his hips and the other reached down to squeeze him firmly.

James moaned at her unyielding touch, hardening further beneath her expert ministrations. “The things you do me, Natalia,” he groaned. She smiled a smile meant only for him and tucked her slim hand beneath his waistband.

After they brought each other to a heartrending climax, they napped on James’s messy bed, his head tucked into Natasha’s shoulder and Natasha’s arms around his firm chest. As she drifted off, Natasha quietly realized it was the most peaceful she had ever felt.

When they awoke, they meandered out of James’s room and ended up in one of the main lounges. It seemed that everyone was out, but someone had left a mindless reality show playing on the state-of-the-art television. They decided to keep it on and order takeout. Over sushi rolls, they quickly became slightly addicted to the bizarre program. It was strange for Natasha to do something so mundane at all, much less with a fellow former assassin she had known in a different life. But James’s snarky comments about the absurdity of the show concept and the idiotic cast made her laugh, and being close to him made her feel pleasantly warm inside.

Several hours later, they were interrupted with an uncertain, “Hey, lovebirds.”

Natasha froze, and then, in a flurry of movement, she yanked her feet from James’s lap and scurried to the other side of the large couch. She schooled her features into neutral ones with practiced ease even as her heart pounded obnoxiously in her chest.

“Hey, Steve,” James said, much too casual to be genuine, wearing an alarmed expression like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Steve’s eyes were huge, his hair windswept and face flushed from riding his motorcycle. He stood in the doorway, mouth agape. They had clearly been the last people he had expected to encounter. He blinked several times and fumbled with his collar.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll give you some space,” he said awkwardly, backing out of the doorway.

Natasha beat James off the couch and followed Steve into the corridor. Luckily, there was no one else around. “Steve, wait up,” she said nervously.

Steve looked surprised to see her and a little sheepish, halting his brisk walk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Nat,” he said, sounding embarrassed. 

Natasha ignored him in favor of asking, “Steve, is this okay?” _Please don’t make me give this up,_ she didn’t have the nerve to say. She had known James for so many years, but Steve had known him even longer. And despite how close she and Steve had grown over the past decade, she still feared that he would think she wasn’t good enough to be with his best friend. _Please let me prove to you that I’m worthy._

But her worry was for naught. “Of course,” Steve said. His lips were pressed into a flat line, but his eyes were genuine. “I’m so happy for you. Both of you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said, expression softening. “I suspected, for a long time. Those files you gave me after DC didn’t say outright, but it wasn’t hard to see where the dots connected. I didn’t know if either of you would ever want to talk about it, but I’d . . . hoped.”

“Thank you for letting us figure it out in our own time,” she said.

Smiling, he shook off her gratitude. “It’s nothing. I know how precious and complicated it can be to be reunited with a long-lost love.”

Something about his tone was off. Crossing her arms, Natasha narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Steve hesitated. Haltingly, he said, “When I returned all the Infinity Stones, I made an extra stop.”

“Oh,” Natasha said, gentle as anything. She thought of the locket Steve still kept close at all times, even when he was suited up, and the tender look in his eyes when he looked at the old photograph preserved inside. “Oh, Steve, you didn’t.”

“I did,” Steve said. “I stopped and cashed in on that dance I was promised.”

“Was it worth it?”

Steve smiled, soft and sad. “Any time spent with her was always worth it.”

Natasha nodded, thinking about those long, endless years in the USSR and the furtive intimacy she and James had tried so desperately to hold on to. It had been a fire amid the endless winter, an oasis in an immense desert. Their love had been brief but so enduring, surviving even where so many memories and emotions hadn’t.

“I think I understand,” she said.

“Good,” Steve said. He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a small, shaky smile. “Now get back in there, or else Buck will think I’ve scared you away.”

Natasha smiled back. “He’s not going to get rid of me that easily.”

*

Each month, Natasha carved out time to spend with Laura and the kids in Missouri. The first few times had ended with Laura crying into her arms and Natasha patting her back helplessly. But after the funeral, a placid resignation blanketed Laura, and Natasha’s guilt only grew.

It was a special kind of torture to be in Clint’s old house, where the walls were plastered with photos of him, laughing, smiling, playing with his kids—alive. Laura frequently mentioned moving somewhere more populated, where the kids would have distractions from their father’s absence, but Natasha suspected that, like her, Laura was of two minds about it. This house had been Clint’s pride and joy, his happily ever after. Leaving it meant admitting he was never coming back.

Natasha helped Laura make a salad to go with the chili. Though she wasn’t much of a cook, she certainly knew her way around knives and was more than happy to lend a hand with prep. Lila helped plate everything, and Cooper set the table. Before the registration mess, before Thanos, dinner at the Bartons’ had already been surreal—Natasha had always been happy for Clint and happy to not be left behind in his new life, but she had never gotten used to seeing him in such a quaint family setting. It was only more surreal now, his absence hanging like a storm cloud over the idyllic setting.

At the end of the night, Laura walked Natasha to the door. At the foyer, as a portrait of Clint’s smiling face on the oak credenza watched over them, Natasha grabbed Laura’s slender, smooth hand and squeezed it firmly. “Anything you need, Laura—don’t hesitate to call.”

Laura squeezed her hand back. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, as she had said every time they had parted.

“I do,” Natasha said. “I owe you. I owe Clint.”

Laura shook her head. “It was his decision in the end. It’s nobody’s fault but Thanos’s.”

“Regardless,” Natasha said. “Please let me do this. If not for you, then for him.”

Laura gave her a watery smile. “Well, I ought to know better than to try to argue with you.”

They hugged, as always. Once upon a time, Natasha had regularly hugged Clint goodbye in this foyer, too, the grizzled muscles of his arms tightening around her, his scent so familiar from all the years of working in close quarters.

“Thanks for coming, Nat,” Laura said, holding the door open, her pretty face crinkled in affection. “It’s always so good to see you.”

“You too, Laura,” Natasha replied, stepping out the door. “Take care.”

Back at the hotel, she got ready for bed and sat up against the headboard, phone in hand. She had killed with her bare hands; calling someone shouldn’t be hard. But she sat staring at the number for close to twenty minutes.

James picked up on the second ring, sounding anxious. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “Just . . . felt like calling.” _I missed you_.

There was a pause in which Natasha questioned everything— _Maybe this was too fast, maybe I’m being too clingy, maybe he’s not interested in this level of intimacy, maybe he’ll decide he doesn’t want to do this after all_ —

“I’m glad you did,” James said softly, and she decided he sounded surprised but pleased. “How are they holding up?”

They talked for half an hour, until James began drifting, exhausted from a long day in Puerto Rico. They said goodnight and promised to spend Friday together at the compound. Natasha fell asleep with a smile on her face.

In her dreams, she told Clint about James as they staked out a target, and he told her he was proud.

*

The Avengers had multiplied so quickly that Natasha sometimes forgot how large the group had become. They started having what Steve called family dinners: the last Saturday of every month, whoever was available gathered at headquarters for a night of hanging out, during which they did their best not to only talk shop. The first time had been after Tony’s funeral, when Thor had asked if anyone wanted to grab some shawarma back in the city in honor of their fallen friend. Even after Thor left Earth with the Guardians, they all continued to meet up.

One month after Natasha spoke to James about their past, the family dinner was particularly well attended. In addition to the two of them, Steve, Sam, Bruce, Wanda, and Rhodey were present, as well as Scott and Hope, and even Peter and Carol showed up (the latter with her partner, Maria). They had a massive spread of Szechuan food delivered, and the atmosphere was lively with chatter and laughs. She and James sat next to each other at dinner, their knees furtively pressed together under the table. More than once, their elbows brushed against each other and Natasha caught James watching her quietly throughout the meal.

“A toast!” Steve declared halfway through the meal, his sonorous voice cutting across all the different conversations. “To our fallen comrades.”

“To our fallen comrades!” the Avengers echoed, clinking glasses.

As she drank her wine, Natasha thought of Clint and how he would have loved to be a part of something like this—not just a team, but a group of friends. She thought of Tony and how he had tried so hard to avoid the responsibility of leading their ragtag group and yet done it so gracefully in the end. She thought of Laura and Pepper and their kids, and how strange it was that Natasha would get to watch them grow up when their fathers would never have the chance. She thought of Vision and how he had just begun carving out a life for himself, how brave he had been to take the leap for a chance at love.

After dinner, they settled in one of the lounges. Sam put an old movie on, but everyone mostly talked over it (and commiserated about how young Peter was to have never heard of it—but to his credit, the kid was a good sport about it).

Scott sat in one of the plush armchairs with Hope perched in his lap and her long arm around his shoulders. He was snorting in laughter at something she had whispered into his ear, and her face was openly pleased, a shit-eating smirk crinkling her pretty features. From the couch across from them, Rhodey egged Carol on as she pelted Scott and Hope with popcorn. Maria kept laughing as her attempts to stop Carol kept failing because Carol was trying to distract her with kisses.

James, sitting beside Natasha on the floor but far enough apart that no one would assume anything about their relationship unless they knew otherwise, caught Natasha looking at them. Natasha quickly smoothed her expression into one of apathy.

“You okay?” James murmured.

It was a stupid thing to long for. Natasha would never be able to bring herself to be that open, to be that comfortable showing her affection in front of others. And yet, something sour like envy tugged at her heart. What would it be like if she and James felt so at ease with each other? Was it even possible for people like them?

“Of course I’m okay,” Natasha said. James gave her a skeptical look but didn’t push further.

But by the third act of the film, James’s hand had surreptitiously crept over to where hers lay on the rug. Gaze not straying from the screen, he entwined their fingers loosely, giving her an escape route. Natasha had to take a deep breath to calm her foolishly skipping heart. Ignoring the protestations in her head that sounded all too much like old demons, she tightened her grip on his hand and held onto it for the rest of the movie, like a warm, sweet secret just for the two of them.

*

Later, they lay silently beside each other, catching their breaths as they came down from the high, sticky and sweaty in the best possible way. Natasha reached for James’s hand, clasping their fingers on his bare chest.

He turned his head to look at her, eyes soft. She steeled herself as he opened his mouth, still unaccustomed to this level of intimacy even as she yearned for it.

“I don’t remember everything,” he said, “but I know that I loved you then. The little of me that remained loved you more than anything else in the world.”

She closed her eyes, quelling the impulsive tears before they could form. Despite being reunited with him, she still found it excruciatingly difficult to think about that time. He had taught her so much then—how to shoot someone from hundreds of meters away, how to use her flexibility as a weapon, what it felt like to be treated kindly, that the pleasures of the flesh could be more than a tool for manipulation, and above all, her worth. Holding her in his arms in the shadows of Kyiv, he had planted the seeds of what drove her to escape that life, to try to deprogram Department X’s lethal instincts and emotional repression in order to reclaim a part of herself.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “For what it’s worth, I felt the same way about you. I didn’t know how to put words to the feelings then, and I’m still no good at it now, but I know I’ve never felt that way about anyone else.”

“I want to try,” he said, fingers tightening around her hand. “I want to give you that. And . . . I want to feel like that again.”

“Okay,” she said simply. It should’ve scared her, and years ago it would have. But after everything she had seen, it was easy to accept this. The red in her ledger wasn’t totally wiped yet, but she had helped save not just the world but the entire universe. It had to count for something. So for now, she would allow herself a respite: to feel a little, to live a little.

“Let’s go to dinner tomorrow,” she said decisively, turning on her side. “'Out on the town.’ I know we’ll never be like the others, but maybe this time, we don’t have to hide.”

“I’d like that,” he said, shifting to face her. Her stomach did the little uncomfortable flips again, and to distract herself, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him sweetly.

Holding her close, he said softly, “I’m so glad we found each other again.”

Against his lips, she whispered, “Me too,” and held on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/morethansky) and [Tumblr](http://morethansky.tumblr.com) as morethansky!


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